Smokey Joe
by DanceTrance
Summary: Abandoned. Don't have time for this anymore. Enjoy what there is, I suppose.
1. Chapter 1: A Good Start

He had only a brief moment to wait, but his heart raced with every fleeting second that passed. The entrance to the base was just ahead, but at the pyro's speed that would take less than a second to get to. He shifted uneasily on his feet, fingers twitching at his weapon's trigger, eager to begin the slaughter he longed for. The bases were simple, with few hidden passages, meaning that it was easy to master them all. This was both an advantage and a disadvantage for him, however, as it meant that while he could outsmart those who hadn't explored the area before, it also meant that those who had knew some of his best tactics already.

The start of the round had been calm, with the sneakier classes trying to harness the element of surprise as best they could, the engineers throwing down sentries and the demomen throwing down sticky bombs, whilst the offensive classes hesitated before finally triggering the chaos with shouts and battle cries. Both teams had fared well in this battle; their scores rested uneasily at two points each, and both teams were as determined to win as the other. His job was, as far as the others on his team were concerned, to grab the enemy intelligence and run as far as he could get before he was inevitably defeated by spies, snipers, heavies- anything the BLUs threw at him. He couldn't have been more pleased, himself; it was almost guaranteed to be an exciting rush of action and gunfire, and he could take every advantage he could in order to ambush the other team... though he wished the rest of his team saw battles the same way. They usually complained about how much effort they had to put in to compensate for the apparent lack of talent of the other classes. Shrugging off these thoughts, the pyro focused back on the entrance to the base, ignoring the metallic thud as the RED engineer moved his sentries to a better location for defence.

When the enemy stopped firing for a mere second, he charged forward with his flamethrower on full blast, giving out an enthusiastic cry of "_Hudda hudda huh_!" and throwing himself under the bridge of Teufort in the midst of the initial confusion. He sprinted into the tunnel before anyone noticed, taking the stairs two at a time. He crept along the edge of the wall, pulling out his flare gun. Aiming quite carelessly at the BLU heavy that was about to trudge out of the base, he fired a single flare, hitting him square in the chest; he giggled with a strange, twisted innocence as the man yelled for his team's medic while searching for the attacker he assumed was nearby.

A flicker of blue at the very edge of his vision told the pyro that the BLU spy was behind him. Quick as lightning, he held his flamethrower to the spy's masked face and held down the trigger. The spy ignited easily, the flames carving an outline into the air as the firebug jumped up and down in childlike glee and left the backstabber to die. Realising the heavy would soon be actively searching for him, he leapt back down onto the lowest part of the stairs near the tunnel, breathing heavily as his eyes darted about behind the gas mask's dark lenses and listening intently for the BLU heavy's hammering footsteps. As he'd expected, the minigun-wielding Russian had merely glances into the room above the pyro- the flames from the flare extinguished by now, one way or another- before yelling in frustration and stampeding through the BLU base entrance, gunning down the pyro's teammates as he continued to throw his booming voice around.

The pyro, at this point, was already advancing to the metal stairs that would lead him to the other team's intelligence. His own team had placed sentries to guard this particular area, but as he looked above him, he could see none. It didn't matter where they'd been moved to, really, but as long as they were out of the way, that was all he cared about. He decided to leave the nearby snipers, jogging past them without hesitation; if he killed them right then, they'd only be on his tail after they respawned, and they'd probably only try to shoot him when he exited their base, anyway. Bearing this in mind, he eagerly headed for the intelligence. Grabbing the nearby ammo (and, in the same second, wondering why they were always left out for anyone to take, regardless of allegiance) when he got there but leaving the health kit for later, he would have made a beeline for the briefcase if not for the sudden, familiar beeping of a sentry turning to face him. Muttering hoarsely under his breath and cursing himself for not considering that obvious risk earlier, he backed out of the room just fast enough to take only a small amount of damage- easily and quickly recovered by the small health kit he'd saved just for that situation. Normally, this well-placed trap would have been a considerable problem, but with perfect timing and all the grace of a falling ladder, the RED spy went sprawling head-first into the room (having clearly not paid attention to his cloak's remaining power, an annoying habit of his for the rest of the team) and was immediately shot down. The pyro groaned in frustration, but knew he had to use the event to his advantage- lest he risk being scolded by his teammates later on for 'being careless'. It wouldn't be the first time, either. So, thinking quickly and running as fast as he could with his thick suit on, the pyro rushed forward with his flamethrower just before the sentry could turn around.

"_MMMPHH_!" He shouted, his voiced heavily muffled by his gas mask, as he jumped around in circles and the sentry and dispenser placed in the room fell, showering him with short bursts of sparks. It would have been a triumphant cry, but nobody could have understood him even if he wasn't alone. Shrugging slightly, he grabbed the briefcase, hauled it onto his back, and sprinted towards the nearest exit- he didn't have time to notice who was following him.


	2. Chapter 2: Sudden Worry

Running in a thick, heavy suit through sewers, carrying several weapons and a briefcase at the same time is relatively hard. Doing so while being fired at is something entirely different- especially when you can barely see through the mask you're wearing. The pyro was attempting to move around as much as possible, yet the bullets were barely missing his head. He cried out every time one hit his arm, leg or back, but continued running._ Perhaps_, he thought_, if I can make it back to the base in one piece I might be congratulated for my efforts._ He didn't exactly want a medal; a hearty slap on the back as an informal 'thanks' would be enough of a reward for obtaining a victory for his team. He didn't get his hopes up. They were more likely to criticise him on his tactics. It would be just like any other time he'd done so much as secure a single briefcase, capture one point or help with the final push to get the payload into the pit. Still, he didn't see why they had to be so harsh on him. He did his best, didn't he?

It was immediately after that exact thought that a single bullet pierced his gas mask, slammed into the left side of his head and flew out the other. Clearly, someone_ didn't_ think he was doing his best. There was no possible way he could have survived it- he knew himself that the BLU sniper was better than the RED's own when it came to accuracy. The pain hit hard. His eyes screwed shut and he screamed out, dropping the briefcase and collapsing on the floor. He barely had time to glance back at the grinning, waving sniper before everything went black... for possibly the twelfth time that round. Death wasn't permanent in these battles, a mere inconvenience, something to be frustrated at before you were revived again. You were even encouraged to get revenge on those who had killed you several times, just to add to your satisfaction. It had always been a mystery to those who fought, but they simply dismissed it. They knew better than to ask questions. The pyro's lifeless body stayed in place for a while, his weapons scattered on the ground, before fading and leaving only the briefcase behind.

He woke up in the respawn room a very short time later to the deafening voice of his team's soldier. He winced. Even his mask didn't protect his ears against such volume.  
>"MAGGOT! GET UP AND FIGHT! WE HAVEN'T WON THIS YET!" the soldier shouted, being sure to bark insults right at the pyro's hidden face, if only so that he could actually hear him. The soldier, satisfied that he had adequately punished his fellow team member, picked up his rocket launcher and jogged off, throwing further abuse at everyone and anyone he saw. Head throbbing from his previous injury, the crazed pyromaniac got to his feet and reached for his flamethrower. It seemed lighter than last time- or was it even the same weapon? He would have readily accepted that they were merely replaced at respawn rather than regenerating. It seemed more logical to him, anyway. Amidst cries of "Is good time to run, cowards!", "MAGGOTS!" and "Kaboom!", the only ones who were usually quiet at any time were the engineer and the pyro. They were good friends, actually- he often hung around the engineer's machines, smashing his axe at suspicious teammates and flickers of cloaked spies to protect his pal's contraptions, while the engineer himself would take down some of the tougher classes with his sentry. More often than not the pyro had stared, a mixture of confusion and amazement swirling around in his not-completely-intact mind, as the combination of sentry, engineer and dispenser managed to withstand countless Übercharges. Sometimes he wondered why the engineer couldn't just upgrade his sentries to recognise spies- that wasn't something he particularly wanted to happen, however, as it would make him even more worthless to his team. Of all the people who he could disappoint, he did not want to disappoint the engineer. He was his only real ally.<p>

Needless to say, he had no time to help out that round. He had to get back to the briefcase before someone else snatched it and he was once again dismissed as useless. Grabbing a shotgun instead of his usual flare gun, he noticed some of the others on his team staring at him as he left. Trying to ignore them, he ran as fast as he could (being weighed down by all of his usual equipment) back down to the sewers. It reeked of rusting pipes and blood, but it was the most concealed route, and where he'd dropped the briefcase. He could see it, just under the water, and he'd managed to at least carry it near to the RED's side. It was an easy move to just grab it and run- nobody above noticed. They wouldn't have even known it was missing if it were not for the Announcer's call of "We have captured the enemy intelligence!". He groaned, knowing that the other team would also be alerted, and slid back into the sewers with the briefcase.

_Why did they stare at me?_ He wondered._ It's not like I did anything different- well, I've got my shotgun for once, but it's better than my flare gun for defence... was that it?_ He was suddenly suspicious of his team. Why would they stare? They certainly had no valid reason to, unless they were hiding something from him. He was considering this when he heard footsteps in the water behind him. Normally, the pyro would have waved the matter aside and ran faster, but something told him that wasn't wise. He spun round in an instant, firing shots into the air behind him, but nothing happened. That move alone was a mistake. BLU team members started to drop into the water, disturbingly eager to chase him; there was no time to worry about their spy. He just ran, wishing he'd done so before and hoping he'd at least make it back to his team's intelligence. Despite all that was going on, though, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being watched.


	3. Chapter 3: Rocketman to the Rescue

The Soldier considered himself the best there was. Not one of the best- _the_ best. With a glass-shattering cry of "Last one alive, lock the door!", he marched out of the RED base and shot rockets at everything that moved. This time, that involved sentries, engineers and snipers. The BLU team seemed almost dangerously fond of their sentries, and the RED soldier was dangerously fond of destroying them. He was rarely bested by them, his rocket launcher having a much further range; this meant he could quite easily take out the engineers along with them with only a few well-placed rockets. The snipers, too, appeared oblivious to his existence, as they stood in the same place every time he saw them, making it far too easy to explode them into pieces.

The man's brutal tactics and lack of mercy for _anyone- _including his own team- meant he was literally unable to do anything but fight. Working for the mysterious company was all he could do with his life, having attempted to work for various branches of the military and being denied from each one. He never understood this himself, but the problem would be clear to anyone else: he was just too violent. Anyone who tried to suggest this to him, however, would ultimately end up with a shovel to the back of the head. The soldier wouldn't waste his rockets on his own team, although he had no issues with beating them to death with his beloved shovel. It was like a friend to him, something which never failed him and was quite pleased to carve skulls open in one blow. That, to him, friendship, yet another thing which had always escaped his understanding.

A loud, spinning noise jolted the man from his thoughts of the joys of battle, almost immediately recognisable as the BLU heavy's minigun being spun up. Panicking, the soldier blasted his remaining rockets at the general direction of the noise, missing with every single one. Belting out curses at his own stupidity, it wasn't long before he fell, riddled with bullets. The respawn room was cold, and his arm hurt, but he didn't have time to complain. According to the announcement, their briefcase had just been dropped. _Useless pyro again, eh?_ He muttered something under his breath as he reached for his rocket launcher on the bench next to him, pausing as he saw someone slowly fade into the room. The pyro, no less. Yelling something involving the words 'maggot', as usual, he marched out of the room with all of his weapons, content that he'd shown the pyro that failure would NOT be tolerated on HIS team. He felt as though it was his job to make sure the team remained intact, that there were no traitors, that everyone knew their place- that is, below him. He was the best on the team, in his mind, the most accurate, the most successful, the most efficient...

_And the only sane man on the team! _He finished the thought with a snarl as the BLU heavy fell to a critical rocket.  
>"<strong>CROCKET!<strong>" He screamed out at his fallen enemy instinctively, mocking a salute with his thumb and finger forming an 'L' on his forehead as he laughed, grinning from ear to ear. Critical rockets were approximately three times as damaging as his normal rockets. It always made him at least chuckle to himself whenever he managed to score one, especially if his foe died as a result...and that was usually true, meaning he made a slight habit of laughing at his defeated opponent, despite the fact that this often ended with him being attacked by BLUs. He had time to laugh now, though, as he was out of sight of the snipers and he knew the other BLU team members were busy. They were busy trying to get their intelligence back, to be specific, and this was confirmed when the rushed out of the tunnel under the bridge to go after the RED pyro. They'd been lured out by his gunfire- the soldier could only presume he had twitched with his finger hovering over the trigger or he'd seen a spy. The latter was disproved when the other team's spy ran out of the tunnel at the back of his team. Muttering his line of "You are all weak. You are all bleeders." in as quiet a voice as he could manage (which, apparently, was more comparable to shouting), he took the opportunity to shoot them all with his rocket launcher while they were distracted, and took out a good few of those in the stampede. He guessed, as the enemy Scout shouted something that he didn't quite pick up, that there was no physically possible chance that the pyro, with his amount of skill, could take on the rest.

So, despite his mind screaming at him to let the maggot take what was coming to him, he leapt into the water, calling out "**SCREAMIN' EAGLES!**" and swapping his rocket launcher for his more reliable shotgun. Besides, his rockets wouldn't explode as much in the tunnels, where the water was just enough to stop the pyro's fire from being effective.  
>"Boo-yaah!" He shot down the BLU spy, adding "Gotcha, crouton!" to his triumphant cries.<br>"Pa-pow, _city boy_!" The scout was next to fall to the psyched-up mercenary's gun. The BLU soldier following the pyro barely had time to turn around before he was greeted by a shovel to the arm. With a quick salute to the Pyro, who in turn gave a grateful wave, the two soldiers took turns shooting, whacking and dodging each other, calling out various taunts and insults as they did so. At one point they both switched to their rocket launchers, dangerous for both in such an enclosed space; but the RED soldier had experienced such combat before. It wasn't exactly common for him to be battling at close-range with his counterpart, but it wasn't the first time they'd fought.

In fact, in the same round, the RED soldier had managed to dominate- their term which they used to describe constantly defeating an opponent- his counterpart twice, each time with a cry of "DOMINATED!" along with his usual one-liners. The soldier didn't question this act of his, since the other classes also had a habit of mocking their opponents _after_ they were dead, both with actions and words. The soldiers in particular, however, had a nasty talent for throwing personal insults at their foes. For each opponent they had several nicknames, designed- if such a word can be used to describe insults which are created in the soldiers' minds- to pour salt into their wounds. Of course, they were dead, but the respawn system meant they could hear them all the same. More than once the soldier had seen a slain Engie's mouth curl into a frown as he lay on the receiving end of the soldier's harsh, mocking words.

And, as usual, there was no shortage of abuse from both sides as they fought each other. Eventually they both decided to use their melee weapons, the BLU soldier having his Equalizer- a strange pickaxe which seemed to make him actually move faster- and the RED staying faithful to his trusty shovel. Grunts of pain followed each successful hit, the RED soldier wishing he could just finish his combatant with his rocket launcher, yet knowing it would be near useless against him. He desperately tried to recall the many years of training he'd put himself through, hoping he would remember some secret method of outsmarting what he refused to consider a blue-uniformed version of himself. In reality, they were different people, but the company who hired them both to fight had been careful to truly mess with their heads by ensuring they were from the same country, had the same habits and mentality and the same weapon specialisation. It caused further confusion when there was more than one of the same class on the same team- a problem avoided in the case of the Soldier (more than one would have surely ended in chaos for both teams) yet completely ignored in the case of the Sniper or Engineer.

Speaking of the other classes, why was he battling this hippie on his own? He didn't need help- oh no, he would never accept help even if it was readily available- but the American couldn't help but wondering why none of his team had considered helping. The pyro could have flanked the man from behind with his flamethrower, as despite the water being present, it did not protect anyone's upper body or legs from fire unless they threw themselves to the ground. That, of course, was a mistake reserved only for the true **idiots** of the battle, since throwing yourself to the ground in the presence of a pyro meant death by axe or gun anyway. Even with his looming insanity and violent outbursts, the soldier was not an idiot, and he knew the man he was fighting at that moment wasn't, either. If he was, the fight would have been over within seconds, but it lasted for what seemed like forever.

In an amusing end to the battle, both soldiers killed the other with a quick swipe to the neck. They glared at their opponent as they fell, shouting "**I never liked you!**" and "**Go to hell, hippie!**" in a half-hearted attempt to at least win the verbal war against each other. The RED soldier mentally groaned as the all too familiar shades of the respawn room came into view and the announcement he had been waiting for was called out.  
>"Success! We have secured the enemy intelligence."<p> 


	4. Chapter 4: Good Friends

The pyro was really very excited. He'd actually finally managed to secure the last point for his team by returning the intelligence to the base, something that he rarely managed to accomplish with the BLU team's ferocious appetite for victory. He had considered thanking the soldier for his unexpected and uncharacteristic decision to help out in the tunnel, but he still didn't trust the violent, loud-mouthed man. Either way, he had time to relax now, as the round had ended fairly late and the new round wouldn't start until the next day. Both teams had spent a long time in Teufort, and the pyro guessed they would be moving to a new area relatively soon. That was good news- hopefully they'd be transferred to a less well-known base so he could ambush and charge the enemy without them knowing where he could jump out at them. He pushed these thoughts aside, though; the time between the final round and the next day was no time for battle plans, in his opinion. He was heading back to the respawn room to set his weapons aside when he saw his team's soldier fading into view. He paused for a moment, reluctant to advance, but eventually took the risk of being yelled at anyway.

The soldier didn't even look up when he offered a hand to help him up, instead jumping up on his own and standing to attention, taking clear pride in the fact that he was taller. That was one thing the pyro hated: he was noticeably taller than the enemy scout, the shortest class on either team, and yet the others seemed to think that his height was reason enough to mock him.

"You are weak!" The pyro almost fell over from the sudden outburst, but managed to regain his stance and uttered a "Hm?"  
>"You at least managed to recover <em>my<em> intelligence... but you almost lead the enemy right into our base!" The soldier snarled at the shorter man.  
>"Mm hrr-mm.. hmm mmph h' mmphh." The pyro's muffled voice wasn't recognisable behind his mask, but the word 'spy' could be vaguely understood.<br>"A...spy? Not true. I killed the enemy spy myself...and speak up, maggot!"  
>"Mmp mm h' mm hmphh hmm.." The pyro was attempting to explain that he only <em>thought<em> he saw a spy, but the soldier merely grunted, dismissing the conversation completely and marching out. The pyromaniac frowned behind his mask, sighed and shook his head. If the others on his team would take a moment to be considerate, he might be tempted to make it easier for them to communicate, but he knew that his inaudible mumbling drove the others crazy, and it amused him to no end. Bearing this in mind and giggling slightly to cheer himself up, he jogged over to where he last saw the Engineer.

He was greeted with a friendly wave and a slightly lopsided grin, and both proceeded to bash each other on the shoulder with their fists. To any outsider it would seem strange to do such a thing, but it was an effective way of identifying them as spies. If they were a spy, they would not punch back; even if they did, the hit would cause the spy's disguise to become very obvious. Having swiftly- if somewhat painfully, due to the Texan's immense strength- confirmed it was the real engineer, the pyro lifted the lower half of his mask up over his mouth so he could speak somewhat more clearly. He would have removed his entire mask, but he did not care to share his face with the other team members and it was easier to just lift it up slightly than take it off altogether.  
>"Run int' any Spies?" The pyro's speech was slurred, thanks to the numerous scars over his mouth. They were from various fights as well as from the heat of his own weapon- having his flamethrower knocked back toward his face seemed to be almost a hobby of the enemy spy, and the man on the receiving end did not appreciate it. His speech often flowed too much as a result, causing him to omit various letters to form a more fluent chain of words.<br>"Heck yeah! A whole load of them mother hubbards snuck up on me- where were ya, buddy?" The engineer reached over and patted his sentry gun, smirking. "Ah'm gonna adjust this here to catch spahs, if yer not careful.." This threat caused both men to chuckle. They knew that this would certainly be true if not for the restrictions, rules and limitations placed on their seemingly endless battles. The pyro's flamethrower, for example, was only allowed to burn to a certain temperature- the pyro knew more than enough about the mechanics of the weapon to adjust it so that it could burn much, much hotter, but there was no chance of him being permitted to use it in battle if he made such modifications. The engineer could have built spectacular pieces of machinery if the rules were lifted, essentially removing the need for anyone else on his team. The demoman could have used explosives that blew anyone within a mile apart, the heavy weapons guy could have a more precise and accurate gun, the spy could have a cloaking device that lasted for an infinite amount of time... the possibilities were endless, but restrained without hesitation by their mysterious employers.  
>"Sorr'eh, engieh..." The pyro grinned. "I goh' the las' point, though..." He shrugged.<br>"Good on ya, pardner!" The engineer's smile faded. "Don't suppose anyone else's thanked y'all fer it, though, uh?"  
>Sighing, the pyro nodded. He didn't expect them to comment anyway, but the engineer's kindness and appreciative attitude made it sting that much more. "Nuh. Wish thuy woulh'... seems li-" The pyro's eyes, had they been visible behind his gas mask, would have showed sudden fury at something approaching his friend. A few quick, well-timed jabs to the figure behind the engineer and the BLU spy, having been disguised as the Medic, fell to the ground in agony. "Meh'ic <em>nevuh<em> talks t'engieh, dumbahss!" The pyro snarled, the spy screaming as the quick-thinking mechanic pulled out his pistol and slammed bullets into him. Calming down as fast as they'd become infuriated, the two slowly relaxed as the engineer nodded gratefully to the pyro and they both leaned back on the dispenser.  
>"Ah was meanin' ta ask ya'll 'bout somethin', anyway," the conversation was swiftly continued by the Texan. "Ya'll seem pretty keen on all this here.. ah was wonderin' 'f ah could get yer help fixin' it."<br>"Yeuh? Wha's wrong wi'h it?" The pyro looked on, confused, as the engineer prodded at the dispenser they were leaning on. "Loo'hs fine t' me."  
>"Yeah, it works just fine... 'til someone comes up cryin' to me 'bout bein' on fire, that is.." The man's eyes stared curiously at the gas mask's lenses, a smirk on his face. The firebug shuddered slightly. The enemy pyro was a force to be reckoned with, quick on his feet yet without much in the way of weaponry. He had the standard gear- a shotgun, an axe and, of course, a flamethrower- but had some considerable mastery of the set. He was barely distinguishable from the RED pyro at first glance (besides the obvious difference of wearing a blue fire-retardant suit as opposed to a red one), but upon closer inspection anyone could notice that the BLU pyro seemed more calm, collected and rational, with the RED being almost completely insane and charging the enemies at any given opportunity.<br>"I'hs nuh puttin' ouh' th' fire?"  
>"Nah."<br>"Mm. Leh' me look." The RED pyro knew a fair amount about the way his friend's machines worked. This was mostly due to him not having anyone else to talk to and the engineer's strange habit of getting carried away while explaining blueprints; however, the pyro did genuinely take an interest. With his knowledge of his own weaponry and his mastery of flames, he could generally fix any fire-related problems with his friend's 'toys' whenever they appeared. Placing his gas mask back over his face for the sake of comfort and practicality, he crouched down to look at the machinery, mumbling to himself as he went through the wires and data chips within the dispenser. Noticing something, he gestured for the engineer to look at the configuration of various data chips; the Texan nodded and the pyro backed off, pleased that he could help somewhat. He'd noticed that the programming didn't recognise the flames as a separate entity from the healing team member, actually preventing the flames from extinguishing in the air and prolonging the victim's agony for as long as they were healed. A simple adjustment would fix the problem, but the problem itself was hard to spot without knowing where to look.

He was concerned about his friend's talkative nature at first, worried that spies would overhear and take the knowledge of the way the machines worked to use against the RED team. The engineer had only laughed rather loudly when he'd voiced his worries, assuring the somewhat bewildered pyromaniac that all of the spies were under just the same restrictions they were. There was nothing they could do with such basic details and information even if they got it, and if they wanted it so badly they could just ask their own engineer. A flash of anger usually crossed his eyes whenever he mentioned his BLU counterpart. Through spending all of his free time with him, the pyro had learned that the other engineer had tricked the RED before, and, being one to hold a grudge, he had never forgotten it.

The reason they spent so much time together was, mostly, down to a lack of anything better to do. The other classes were busy preparing for the next round, relaxing as much as they could or just talking amongst themselves; nobody cared for the deranged firebug and his Texan friend. Occasionally the pyro wouldn't talk to the engineer for one reason or another, but would still accompany him during the brief moments of peace they had on the battlefield, perhaps cleaning his weapons or repairing them. He ensured that nobody was allowed to so much as approach his flamethrower- not that they particularly wanted to- so he was forced to fix it himself if it was damaged severely in the ongoing fights between the two sides. Even between rounds, the teams had to be wary of possible spies or surprise attacks by the enemy, as nobody seemed content to leave their foes alone. They never went as far as stealing the intelligence- it seemed to generally be useless information anyway, or at least encoded in several different ways- or capturing a control point (they reset at the start of the next round regardless of their efforts), yet they felt almost obliged to irritate their enemies and make their jobs as difficult as possible.

This, of course, was with the exception of the RED and BLU pyro.  
>They chose to battle each other directly.<p>

It was a dangerous and violent dance, both circling each other before crying out, their flamethrowers twirling loops and ribbons of flame in the air as if performing a show. This continued for only a few seconds, each backing away with the fire still trailing ahead of them, before they switched to their secondary weapons. This was generally the shotgun- the flare gun, despite being the RED pyro's weapon of choice, was useless against the flame-retardant suit they both wore, as the flares were designed to set the enemy alight rather than inflict a large amount of damage. With the shotgun in hand, they both leapt about and fired shots specifically aimed at each other's head or legs to kill or cripple the opponent. At the end of the day, one or the other returned to their base triumphantly (in the RED pyro's case) or wearily (in the case of the BLU pyro), glad that the fight was over but knowing it could have swiftly and easily turned against them and that it would be re-enacted as soon as the next day was over.


	5. Chapter 5: Habits of Mine

Unlike the other classes, the soldier prided himself on being prepared.  
>At the end of every day of constant fighting, he went directly to the nearest communication room. He'd regain contact with HQ, get information on the next day's rounds, and form several plans for each one. More than once he'd woken up in the room, slouched on a chair and staring at a radio or computer screen with strategies and formations scattered around him on large sheets of paper. He'd woken in this situation before with one of his grenades missing and had spent the best part of two hours searching for it before discovering it had detached from its usual place on his uniform and exploded a short distance from him. This had angered him, as it meant some of his best plans were in charred pieces around him; he didn't really care that he'd barely survived the blast, and simply had a cup of coffee and resumed his routine.<p>

His complete **obsession** with being prepared was in some vain attempt to get the advantage over the other team in the form of surprise attacks and strategic placement of mercenaries. Despite his dedication, however, he knew the other team might just as thoroughly be checking information and devising plans against _him_. He didn't think of himself as part of the RED team- if anything, he thought of himself as the leader, but preferred to consider the battle as between him and the entire force of the enemy team with the rest of his team fighting alongside him. He chuckled, fully aware that his team would, indeed, follow his orders. He told himself this was because he was an outstanding soldier and leader, not quite realising it was entirely caused by his painfully loud voice.

This time, leaning over a pile of plans from his time spent at Teufort, he found himself with a sudden headache as he discovered that Dustbowl would be the next area. He groaned and stared at the options he already had. Teufort was easy to navigate around; it had simple, similar bases and few hiding spots for spies and snipers. Dustbowl, on the other hand, was far more complicated- not a problem for him personally, as there were plenty of high places he could rocket-jump to, but meaning he would have to instruct his team where they could defend more efficiently. That, too, was a problem: RED always defended where control points were involved. Where possible, the pyro would be sent out to push back the BLU attackers, but mostly they relied almost entirely on the Heavy to keep the intruders away. They were good defenders, of course, but it was irritating to constantly be on the defence. The soldier would sooner stay at Teufort and take the intelligence from the enemy. He didn't have much choice in the matter, though. What the Announcer said was the next area had to be so. He'd tried standing up to her before and it hadn't ended well. She had to be the only person alive who could withstand the full force of the soldier's voice and not even flinch.

They were taking a train to Dustbowl, which at least meant they wouldn't have to make the journey on foot. The soldier had attempted to motivate his team to achieve this once or twice, but, despite their fear of their self-appointed leader, they found themselves physically unable to complete the journey. Naturally, they'd all suffered the soldier's constant yelling in the burning hot sun, leaving them all astounded that he could find the stamina to continue screaming at them for the entire time. Taking a train also meant that he could instruct them all on what their job was for the upcoming rounds, whether or not they'd be playing offensively or holding a point and telling them to improve their tactics. He rarely told them how to improve- he didn't really care _how_, just that they improved somehow. The train left at 6:00 AM exactly. Glancing up at a clock on the wall, the soldier glared at its stubborn response that it was already 2 o' clock in the morning, willing it to change time. Nothing happened. The soldier grumbled to himself. He'd have to wake his team up at a reasonable time, but what would he do until then? He would sleep, but there was a chance he wouldn't wake up early enough... instead, he decided there was nothing left to do but prepare for the battle.

As the battle formations were already organised, the only other option was target practice. Not the best method of training, but without anyone awake and willing to have rockets blasted at their chests, it was the best available at that time. The soldier half-considered charging back into the sleeping quarters and cracking skulls open with his shovel to get their attention- the thought made him chuckle- but that was impractical, and his team were weak enough already without having their sleep disturbed. Yet, anyway. He'd have to wake them up at some point or they'd sleep through the day. So, knowing he couldn't wake up his team or plan ahead any more than he had with the information he'd been provided with, he slung his Direct Hit over his shoulder and set up a few targets.

It seemed like only a few minutes, but over an hour later he was still outside, almost frozen to death with one hand hovering over the box of ammunition next to him. The targets were mostly rendered useless by the explosive hit of the rockets, charred and in pieces on the floor, yet those which were as much as half intact were being blasted at continuously by the aggressive American. The cold didn't bother him much since he was so focused on training, but his attention wavered when he heard light footsteps on the hard ground behind him.  
>"You been out 'ere all night, mate?" The soldier didn't need to glance over his shoulder to identify the Sniper's voice. He grunted in response to his question, reloading his weapon and aiming for the nearest target.<br>"Ain't gonna get any better if you're tired..."  
>"I don't have time to be tired." His reply was slightly shaken from the time he'd been outside, his voice cracked from the chilling air. The sniper sighed, shaking his head as he stared sadly at the soldier. It wasn't a surprise that he was awake so late, but he couldn't help but feel some pity for him. The soldier snarled when he missed his target, almost lashing out at the sniper for interrupting his focus but managing to hold himself back. He stared up at the sky, the black abyss dotted with stars beginning to turn red with the approaching sun, and the sniper went back inside. Picking up his shovel, he swung it around for a while as if to test its weight before whacking the remaining targets apart.<p>

At _exactly_ 4:00 AM, the team was woken by a painfully loud and screeching voice.  
>"<strong>IF YOU MAGGOTS AREN'T AWAKE IN THE NEXT THREE SECONDS I SWEAR I WILL CAVE ALL YOUR SKULLS IN!<strong>" This, of course, jolted every one of them from their sleep, some groaning at their rude awakening and others outright complaining.  
>"Och, it ain't even time to go yet, lad!"<br>"I will get you back for zhis later, soldat..."  
>"Mm-mph! Mm-mph!" The pyro seemed to be the only one actually apologising for not being awake, but seemed more relaxed when he glanced at the clock on the wall.<br>"I will not accept excuses! Are you going to sit and complain or are you going to follow my orders?" The soldier stared down every one of his team mates- besides the sniper, who was already upstairs with his rifle and a mug of coffee, fending off any last-minute attacks from the BLU team. After the REDs had reluctantly agreed to get up two hours early, they had about an hour to relax before the train arrived. They were all briefly informed of the schedule for the upcoming battles and then left to do whatever they pleased. As self-proclaimed leader of the team, the soldier took on the responsibility of ordering everyone else to haul everything onto the train when it finally arrived. Even when they were on board, they were not spared from lectures on how they should focus on defence; the demoman was to hide his sticky-bombs, the engineer was to prevent the advance of the BLUs with his sentry gun, and the pyro was to only attempt ambush attacks. They were all individually (and as a group) told that they should avoid charges at all costs. Their aim was to be cautious, careful and sneaky, and face-on charges would be easily taken down by the enemy.  
>"Now, when we get to the base I want to see each and every one of you ready to fight, <em>do you understand?<em>" The soldier announced, not expecting an answer but simple compliance from his teammates. They all nodded their heads in approval just as the train pulled to a halt outside Dustbowl.

The first challenge was to get off the train intact. The BLU train and the RED train ran alongside eachother, so the first step outside triggered an instant bloodbath. The RED team sent out the Heavy and the Medic to clear the path first, with the BLU sending out their Scout and Pyro to use their advantage of speed. Barely managing to carve through the onslaught, the RED team eventually made it to the supply rooms, everyone besides the Soldier panting for breath. The soldier himself marched into the room triumphantly, pleased that there had been no casualties so far. The mercenaries recovered quickly, immediately leaving the room to look around, making mental notes on points they could hide or retreat and corners they could use to their advantage. All that was left was for the round to start.

Usually there were around four or five rounds a day, with each round depending on its setting. For Dustbowl, all of the rounds would be control points; RED team owned all the points at first, and BLU had to capture them all. Occasionally, RED could play offensively if BLU didn't capture the majority of the control points fast enough, but this was rare. Generally they were defending one or two points, possibly trying to reclaim their last point if things were going badly for them. The rounds were on a time limit, and if a team had claimed all of the points at the end of the round, they won. If there was so much as one control point remaining under ownership of RED, BLU lost. This seemed unfair at first glance, but with BLU team being better at attacking and RED at defending, it was well-balanced. BLU team was also secured inside their base until the round started, while their opponents were free to roam around the battlefield. Despite these advantages, RED had somehow lost to their enemies several times.

As soon as the round begun, however, both teams forgot anything that had happened before and became completely driven towards victory. The gates opened and the BLUs were let loose. The sound of the sirens which indicated the beginning of the round was very quickly drowned out by the battle cries of the various classes on the attacking team, while the defending team was oddly quiet. It was easier for them to hide their position this way, and several careless attackers were swiftly killed with a sniper's bullet or spy's butterfly knife at the early stages of the round. It wasn't long before a control point was captured and the REDs had to participate in the slaughter. They sent out the Heavy/Medic combo again, the Medic having built up an Übercharge during the setup time and, with the heavy weapons guy and doctor now invincible, the two charged round and mowed down the intruders within seconds. The soldier nodded, seeing his chance; he aimed his weapon at his feet, ducked, jumped and fired all at once, sending him flying into the air, screaming at the top of his lungs as he shot down some of the BLUs who'd avoided the Heavy's range of fire. Things were looking good...for now.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Whew! Sorry this chapter ended a bit abruptly, but it would have dragged on if I hadn't closed it where I had. I originally planned to upload this along with chapter 4, but real life caught up with me slightly. Then I planned to upload it the next day, but had to attend a birthday party, and the next day was spent at a concert.. the whole thing ended up taking a few days to write out.  
>Cheers for reading anyway!<p>

-DanceTrance

Edit: Sorry about not updating yet- had a lot on my mind, combined with writer's block (the bane of my existence...). I will eventually post a new chapter, but I'm afraid it will probably be a filler. I'm onto, what, four cups of my usual pure black coffee a day, now? as opposed to my usual _one_. So, as I said, a lot going on lately, I'm very stressed, blah, give me time and I'll put stuff up. A'ight, guys. Cheers.


	6. Ceasefire 1

**Author's note:** Well! I can only truly say I'm sorry for the unexpected hiatus on my part. I promise it won't happen again. I've created here what I'm calling a "Ceasefire" - short little snippet for you to enjoy while I get back on my feet. They'll only be used when I'm feeling particularly dragged down, but this should otherwise updates on Wednesdays from now on and they _should _be full chapters. Cheers!

-DanceTrance

* * *

><p>A welcome break, for once. Some problems involving the other team. Something about the rules. Even with no knowledge of the situation, the RED team were more than eager to accept the offer of a rest between the rounds. They hadn't been fighting for long – only two rounds had gone by – but they were all exhausted regardless. The enemy team had clearly been training more than their previous performance had let on.<p>

The Pyro seemed more nervous than usual around his team. His suspicions from a short time ago had not eased, and his team seemed oblivious to the fact he was edging around them as if he were the other team's Spy. _Great, that means if the Spy does decide to pay a visit during ceasefire..._ the pyro shuddered at the thought. Granted, his team were often unprepared for combat outside of battle, but he was acting so nervous he at least expected the Engineer to question him. If anything, he was more disappointed than relieved. He managed to shrug it off fairly quickly, however, as he made his way to a fairly hidden platform just outside of the base. A good place to relax. Nobody would bother to disturb him even if they did find him. Glancing around to double-check that this was the case, he perched on the edge of the platform, lifting his mask off to get some fresh air. His face was almost encased in scars, the thick, white lines over his mouth seeming almost invisible compared to the mass of tangled, rough burns over the rest of his head. Most of his hair remained intact, with only parts of it singed by previous battles and incidents involving fire. It was rare that he got the chance to let some air on his face and give his lungs some relief from his asbestos-lined suit, even if the air he was breathing was thick with dust. It was still better than his gas mask, especially considering how often he had to wear it. A thought to change out of his suit crossed his mind, but he dismissed it, realising it would take too much time for such a small amount of comfort... although, the Medic had informed him that just a few minutes away from the poisonous substance would be enough to restore some health. That would be nice for the firebug; his lungs were worn from years of the same job, and his battered and damaged skin wouldn't heal well with the suit permanently clinging to it. He sighed. No choice, then.

He hadn't thought of what exactly he could change into, but he managed to salvage some basic items of clothing from the rooms of his fellow team members. They wouldn't notice they were gone before he returned them, and it was for good reason he was 'borrowing' them. Resuming his break out in the open air, he had to once again remove his gas mask (the risk of getting caught with it off was too great while wandering around the base in ceasefire and, sure enough, he had crossed the Sniper and the Spy sulking around) but this time removed his suit as well. Slipping into a loose pair of jeans and a thin vest, he sat down again, determined to stay put for more than a few seconds. Despite ducking for cover a few times as his teammates strolled around the area, he managed to sit quietly for a full twenty minutes before deciding to change back. Somewhat reluctantly, he slid the mask back over his head and immediately felt an intense, heavy tug on his lungs. He almost choked, barely regaining his breath a few moments later. _Ask the Medic about that later. No doubt you just weren't prepared for that._ He made a mental note to himself before clumsily putting his suit back on. Returning the clothing he'd taken would be tricky without anyone noticing, but he'd learnt more than enough about the Spies to get around without being noticed. Tread lightly, stick to the walls, keep your distance, step first on your heels and then roll onto your toes... countless times he'd observed the way the rogues kept silent, and countless times he'd found such observations very useful, especially dealing with the sluggish Heavy of the opposite team.

What happened next came suddenly and the Pyro, slipping the vest back into a drawer in the Soldier's room, had no way of predicting it. A flip, a muffled click and the flat, hard metal of a shovel thundered down on his head.

"**TAKE MY STUFF, WILL YOU?**"


	7. Chapter 6: A Turn of Events

**Author's note:** Wheeewww! Leaving it till the last minute is one thing, but leaving it until _twenty minutes too late? _Dayumn!  
><strong>Bit of swearing towards the end... only one word, but y'know. Just in case.<br>**Cheers!  
>-DanceTrance<p>

* * *

><p>The outcome <em>was<em> looking good.

The battle _was _going smoothly.  
>If he had returned the items only a few moments earlier, the pyro wouldn't have been in such a mess. As it was, he'd been too late to avoid the Soldier's wrath... and his shovel, of course. He never had much liked that shovel. It was worn down and dented from almost constant use, something the pyro hadn't noticed before he found the shovel slamming into his face. Cursing behind his mask and staggering back to his feet, he just had time to duck the next swing of the sharp-edged weapon.<p>

"Mm phmm mmph? Mm mmph-" The firebug's incoherent mumbling was abruptly cut short with another hit, this time to his side.  
>"<strong>SHUT YOUR RAMBLING, YOU WRETCHED LITTLE MAGGOT!<strong>" The Soldier bellowed at him, his fury overwhelming his mind. The pyro had stolen something of his. He didn't even know what it was, or why he wanted it, but as far as he was concerned, he was a traitor and probably a spy. For the time being, all the pyro could do was shield his head with his arms and try not to faint from his injuries.  
>There was a lot of growling from the soldier after that incident, a lot of mumbling and shuddering from the pyro, and far too much silence from both otherwise. The rest of the ceasefire was spent with awkward shuffling from the rest of the team, the pyro refusing to even speak to the Engineer and the Soldier glaring daggers at anyone who tried to so much as start a conversation with him. It didn't seem like either of them were up for battle. In truth, the soldier's fury could have aided him in battle, but it had faltered too much by the next round for it to make much difference. His confidence was actually starting to drop, and the usually enthusiastic pyro seemed nervous and unsure. The morale of the entire team dropped for the first time in a long time.<br>To make matters worse, the second round of Dustbowl begun far too soon. The soldier, as stubborn as ever, refused to loosen his grip on his shovel, silently and secretly afraid he might lose it, and the pyro refused to stop cowering behind the wooden beam of the room he was _supposed_ to be guarding, the particular spot being a good place for spies and surprise attacks.  
>"Och, come on, lad, ye've been guardin' this post before, aye?" The demoman, in a half-hearted attempt to comfort the pyro, patting him roughly on the shoulder. "It'll be fine..." The pyro could only watch with confusion and mild amusement as he watched the Scot stumble away, still rambling to himself. He could have been further reassured were the Engineer around, but he was with his machines as usual, whacking away at them somewhat carelessly with his wrench. That was something the pyro could never understand – 'Engie', as he was often called, seemed to love his sentries. Why would he hit them so viciously? <em>Probably some kind of stress relief. Everyone gets stressed, right? No worries. He knows what he's doing.<em> Coughing quietly, the pyro, clenching his flamethrower as though it were a shield, stepped out into the room. Naturally, the soldier wasn't even there. He could see him, though, from where he was standing, leaping out above the battle and blasting rockets with worrying inaccuracy. For a brief moment, he glanced back and shot a jolt of fear down the pyro's spine as he frowned, but immediately returned his attention back to the battle at hand before he hit the floor. The pyro sighed, frustrated at his own paranoia, and spun a circle of flame around himself, almost hoping there was a Spy just for the fleeting moment of joy it would bring to burn him to ashes. Oh, if only he had time to hunt one down. If only he had the privilege of being on the attack, the job he was _meant_ for, the job he was _used_ to. No. He was stuck on the RED team, nearly always defending and wasting his precious fire on protecting a circle of metal on the ground. They could take it, for all he cared.

_No! I can't... I can't think that! What if I said that out loud? What if someone had heard me? You freaking idiot... agh.._ In his moment of anger, he'd somehow managed to slam his fire axe into the wall next to him. This particular wall happened to be hiding a Spy, but sadly for the pyro he was not in the path of his axe to begin with and had easily dodged the unexpected move. What luck for the spy, though! Butterfly knife twirling in his fingers, he plunged the blade into the pyro's back, smirking at the outcry of pain from the other man. A quick one-liner to tease the dead man and he vanished into the air again, off to torment the rest of the defenders.

_No, no no no no, no no, no, no, no!_ _I can't have failed! No... I was.. I was there! I was in the room! I...  
><em>...Failed.  
>"You <em>FAILED<em>!" He didn't need the announcement. He didn't even bother to move from the respawn room. He knew it was coming. He just lay on the floor, waiting for someone to ask if he was going to move any time soon or if they had to kick him back to the base. He didn't even believe it. It seemed impossible. One death, to result in a failure for the whole team? Surely they hadn't been that far behind? ...Of course, they were defending. They had two control points. They must have been one down before the spy had even _arrived_ in the base, back when the pyro was refusing to move into the room... if he'd been a few moments earlier. Just a few moments.

What a difference it made.

There was no chance in the world the pyro would have been allowed to so much as crawl out of the room. The Soldier was there within seconds, not uttering a word, just grabbing the pyro's arm and dragging him out of the base.  
>"Mph mmph mm-"<br>"No." The soldier's voice was stern, as expected, but seemed oddly quiet. He almost sounded sad, as if mourning for the loss of his near-assured victory. "Don't even...don't even _think_ about talking." He dumped the firebug in the dust, glaring down at him.  
>"...What the <em>fuck<em> was that, maggot?"  
>"Mmph? Mm mmmph mphh mm... mm-"<br>"I swear by my love of America if you don't speak properly I will not hesitate to hand you straight over to the BLU team." That caught the pyro's attention. Handing him over to the BLU team? That was against the rules, first of all. That wasn't his first thought, though. Betraying him to the BLUs was the first suspicion he'd had of his team members. The glint in their eyes from time to time as he walked outside, the shifty looks whenever he tried to communicate with them, the way they seemed reluctant to _understand_...  
>It was true, then. They were traitors. Just as he'd always thought. And although it seemed illogical to him at the time and for a long, long time afterwards, he lifted his gas mask up over his head and said only three words.<br>"I blame you."

Following that, he burst into a violent coughing fit from the onslaught of dust on his lungs, and his eyes were shut too tight to witness the look on the Soldier's face. Whether it was from the pyro's appearance without his mask, his sudden decision to give up his act that he had maintained for so long, or his harsh statement that had come from nowhere, the war veteran had only one emotion, clear as it could ever have been: he was totally and utterly shocked.


End file.
